Because I hate hospitals

    Hero Hottie has been bugging me to write about my time in the hospital for a while now. I think for two reasons:
1. It is a deeply personal and upsetting time for me and writing about something that has happened to me helps me to deal with it. I suppose that's the artistic side of me. That's why I always tease people about not making me mad because then I'll make them the villain in my next story. I am just joking. A little bit. :)

2. My illness and subsequent stay in the hospital was a time of great growth and realizing just how strong I could be. And if sharing something of that magnitude can help someone else through their struggles, than it should be shared.

    But I drag my feet. It happened six long years ago. A lifetime. And I still avoid thinking about it, talking about it and writing about it. I would prefer to keep the scars nicely hidden behind a facade of normal living and pretend that I wasn't inches away from the white light. Literally.
    I think, and this is going to sound corny, but only love held me to this side of life.

    Unfortunately, I can't birth Baby Blueberry at home with a midwife. Which in my state is pretty much illegal and with having torn my placenta not the best option for me- so off to the hospital I will be going sometime in the next four weeks.

(Are we that close already? Whew, I can't believe it. And I give thanks everyday for it too. Back in April and May when I was spending hours on the couch, praying for Blueberry, I wasn't sure if I would make it this far with my heart still intact. )

But the closer I get to having to stay in the hospital, even for something as natural as birth, the more I feel long buried anxieties and fears start to stir. I have moved so far away from those long days when I thought I might die...or so I thought. Apparently, I have not moved far enough. Again, time can only soften memories, help take the sharpness off of them, dull the edges....time can't heal.

Since I'm planning a natural birth, just like with Bean and Abu...this means for some crazy reason I'm choosing to feel all the pain of childbirth. To succeed in natural childbirth, you have to admit that to yourself--you can't sugar coat it. You can't just say: 'I'm having this baby with no painkillers. Piece of cake."
   No. You have to say...aloud...I'm choosing to feel EVERYTHING.
   Why do I choose this?
One: I have a Mom with chronic pain..it never goes away. Childbirth pain does goes away.
Two: I like to be in control of my body as much as possible. Having Crohn's disease is a bitch and sometimes leaves a person without any control, so I'm not one to give any more away than I have to.

Three: I hate needles. Especially in my spine. I probably hate needles in the spine more than the pain of childbirth.



For me to feel like I can enter the hospital and do this without begging for pain relief...because trust me, I did finally break down and start to want an epidural during my last labors. The pain is just so intense but I was so close I couldn't and Hero Hottie and the nurses were wonderful in keeping me focus on the end goal.

I have to be strong emotionally. And I don't feel strong on the inside when I start to think about entering the hospital. I start to feel weepy and fearful and all the horrible memories...every single one that clouds my mind at time...slams full force into my spirit and reminds me that I almost died in that building.

I can't have THOSE memories trying to be louder than the new -wonderful- memories I will be forming of giving birth to my precious Baby Blueberry. So how to quiet them?

How to silence them? Cut them off? Will them away?

They are a huge part of who I am today, regardless of how I feel about that time. I know this is going to show my geeky/nerdy side but I'm going to relate this to a Star Trek movie. I know, forgive me but I was raised on Hamburger Helper, bologna sandwiches and reruns of Star Trek.

In either the fifth or sixth movie, the bad guy is offering to 'erase' the painful memories of the main cast members. Offering them a life without all that emotional baggage. How tempting. How peaceful. But of course, Captain James T Kirk, our hero, refuses such a thing, even though is past is littered with painful memories. Why? Simply because he wouldn't be the person he is without those memories.

Would I ever repeat my stay at the hospital? Hell, no. I'm not crazy. But did I learn from it. Yes. Is it a part of me? Absolutely, without question. Even my writing is better because of it. My relationships. My understanding of what is important in life.

But it does still have a hold over me. Yes, and that's what I need to finally let go of. So when I enter the hospital in the next few weeks, I'm not dwelling on the horrible but I can concentrate on bringing this new, unexpected little person into my life.

So hopefully I don't bore my readers too much with such serious posts over the next weeks. And I hope you don't mind me being so personal. And I do hope that you find a positive message out of it.
And I promise I won't use anymore Star Trek analogs either. But I can't promise I won't drag something else equally nerdy or geeky into the mix.

Nesting Like Crazy

     It has taken me over two weeks to write this simple blog. Why? Because I'm nesting like a pregnant lady who has finally realized that in two short months that OMG---I'm having a BABY. I'm not just pregnant...I'm going to be a Mom of a newborn.
     Diapers. 3am feedings. (This time of night I can almost guarantee because already Baby Blueberry is waking me up at almost exactly 3am every night with her powerful kicks and sliding motions in my uterus.)
    More diapers. More feedings.
    Lots of coos and the sweetest baby smell.

    So instead of writing, I've been nesting. Especially since a few weeks ago my doctor released me from my modified bed rest. What wonderful news it was too. I had an ultrasound, hopefully the last one, and the tech had to search forever to even find where the bleeding and clot had occurred. Like the doctor said, had they not been looking for the traces of the problem; nothing on the ultrasound would have caught their attention.
     Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
     Was the refrain going through my head on the drive home. I had to tell Hero Hottie right away and we grabbed lunch together to celebrate our news before we picked up the older girls from Grandma's house.
    
    And being a woman who has watched her house get messier and messier and unable to prepare for baby, what is the first thing I do over the next three days?
    It's not as Hero Hottie was hoping, resuming a little activity in the bedroom since we were given the green light on that again...
   No, it's clean the house. Top to bottom. Dust. Vacuum. Scrub.
   (Then my thoughts found themselves right there with Hero Hottie's.)
    But I'm a pregnant woman who has been denied her nesting urges for three long months.
    Silly hormones.

    I have less than two months before she arrives. I'm clumsy, waddling, and hungry all the time. I'm starting to remember the little things from my last pregnancies that I had forgotten.
   Like...
       Once the belly gets big, putting underwear on is a feat in balance and coordination that a pregnant lady is not gifted with.  Hero Hottie can stop laughing now, it's not that funny looking, me trying to balance on one foot while I can barely bend down enough to pull the darn things up.
      
      Shaving the legs is interesting. Today Hero Hottie is looking at the back of my thighs. "You know you need to shave back there, right? It's really hairy."
      "No, I don't know. I can not twist around to see the back of my thighs, (which might be a blessing) and so I don't know if they need shaved."
     "They do."
     "Thanks honey."

     Being hungry in the middle of the night. My first pregnancy, I dealt with this as many first time Moms do. I ate entire bowls of mac and cheese and pints of Ben and Jerry's. Thank you Mr. Ben and Jerry, but I put on an extra twenty pounds because of your delicious concoctions of brownies and ice cream in just the right portions for a pregnant lady.
   This time I knew better. I've been snacking on healthier snacks...raisins, carrot sticks, hummus, and just a few pieces of chocolate at a time. They're small. I can eat a few a day. A hormonal gal has to have chocolate. Ask Hero Hottie.
   

      I know it may seem like I'm picking on Hero Hottie but I'm not. Alright, perhaps just a touch. But only because he called me the 'Waddler'. Luckily I was in a good mood at the time and started to laugh. Being pregnant; I could have cried. The poor guy has been an unwilling rider on my roller coaster of mood swings. Then if you add an incredibly hormonal preteen in the mix and I have to feel sorry for the guy.
   But he's extremely excited for our surprise addition to the family and when it comes time to be in the delivery room and welcoming her into the world; I know I will be able to depend on Hero Hottie.
  
   So I tried to write about zombies, and I tried to write about losing our television and how the older girls were going nuts without the Disney channel but...
   my mind is on babies.
   Well, a certain little sweetie anyway. Baby Blueberry. Who happens to kick when anyone calls her that. The poor gal is going to think her name is Baby Blueberry. What a nickname to be stuck with. :)
 
   In the next two months I will try not to be too baby brain but I can't guarantee anything. It's the hormones.
   They make us pregnant ladies baby obsessive.
   And it's just the way nature intended. 

Hero Hottie and his Mopey Pregnant Wife

    Recently, Hero Hottie read my most recent blog, Life in Transition. He was very quiet when he finished and I asked him what he thought of it.
    "It was well written." He says.

     Translation: I wrote it well but...

    "What's wrong with it?" I asked, about to cry for about the hundredth time that day. The poor guy had already dealt with my mood swings all morning. When he went to buy a cup of coffee and asked if I wanted anything I just sat on the couch all glumly and mopey. Perhaps it was the weather, or listening to emotional songs all last night, or just being pregnant but I was still in a funk. And not a good groovy funk but an Eeyore kind of mood.
    "Woes is me. I'm just a pregnant woman all fat and frumpy."

    "How about a root beer?" he asks because that has been one of my cravings this pregnancy. "I will buy what ever kind you like."
     Even a root beer didn't sound tasty. I really was in a mood. "No," I muttered, shrugging my shoulders.
     "No root beer? Nothing?" He starts naming off brands and not just regular gas station root beers but ones he would have to go out of his way to buy. The really good kinds brewed with real sugar and not high fructose corn syrup and bottled in glass bottles. You know a man loves you when he's willing to drive all over town for a single bottle of root beer.
    But I still couldn't shake off the mood. It was clinging to me like a little black rain cloud.

    He sighs, clearly frustrated and a bit worried that he can't fix my mood with a root beer. I'm usually a very positive person, so falling into an Eeyore type of mood and actually staying there was quite unusual for me, even with being pregnant.
    "Is there anything I can get you?"
     I sigh now because there has to be something that will make me feel better and the guy is trying so hard to fix.
    "Hot chocolate." I finally decide on my other craving this pregnancy.
     "The Starbucks one from Safeway?" he asks.
     I nod, hating to send him out of his way but I can't just have hot chocolate from the coffee shop. It has dairy in it and my stomach hates dairy now with a passion. Never used to be that way but it is now. So I have to find hot chocolate I can have, which is difficult. But Starbucks has hot chocolate packets you can buy that probably aren't real good for you because like the first or second ingredient is sugar but they have a chocolaty goodness that makes me not care. Mmm, hot chocolate. And studies have shown chocolate is good for you. I think it should be it's own food group, right up there with fruit. Because strawberries and chocolate when put together should be considered a super food. 

    But back to the story...I had hot chocolate and my mood still doesn't improve. Finally when Hero Hottie is out the door for work, he has clearly had enough with my mood.
     "Are you going to pity yourself all day?"
      I frown. "I'm pregnant and on bed rest. I can be moody if I want to." I defend myself and my mood.
     "But it's not doing you or that baby any good."
      My frown deepens. Do I try to use the pregnancy card again or do I admit that I have let my mood sink into a self pity party of one?
     Yes, life is changing. I'm in a mode of transition, but isn't life normally like that? Nothing stays the same, nothing is frozen in time. Our babies are born, they learn to walk and in time they leave the nest.
     Nothing is static.
     My Mom used to tell me that she was glad when life was boring. When someone would ask her if there was anything going one she was always happy to tell them that nothing was going on and nothing had changed.
    I used to agree with her because I was usually focused on the negative changes in my life. And who wants those?
    But then I started to fear change. Any change. And not all change is something to fret over, or to worry about, or to dread.
   Some change is wonderful and has to be embraced...or we remain static.
  
   I was looking up Ecclesiastes to find the quote about "There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heaven." Some people might know the entire verse from Sunday school; others might recognize it from the song by The Byrds.
   But I found another quote further down on the page that I thought was more fitting. It reads, "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor. If they fall down, they can help each other up. But pity those who fall and have no one to help them up!"
  
   We aren't supposed to go through life alone. Changes are supposed to be shared. Hard times are supposed to be traveled together. When I wrote about my Life in Transition, I was given a lot of support and love from the people around me.
   I wasn't alone.
   And Hero Hottie was right. Self pity was not doing me any good. A little sulk can help you cleanse your system of the heavy emotions but you can drown in them if you're not careful.
  
   Finally, I answer him. "I am throwing myself a self pity party and I'm done."
   And I meant it. Later that day I connected with my friend which improved my mood, I spent time with Bean which I cherish because I do realize that someday she will be grown and on her own and I enjoyed time with Baby Blueberry as she kicked up a storm in my womb.
    And I have a husband who will drive all over town to find something, such as a bottle of root beer, to cheer up my mood. But who will also challenge me to keep growing and changing as a person.

    So Change, bring it on. I can't guarantee I won't find my Eeyore sometimes, but I will do my best to meet you head on.
    And I'll be bringing my army of loved ones to help me face you.